Shadowwyn Moor the mourning sun

Gjalla’s gaze flicked between the two as they exchanged words and gestures, absorbing every shift in body language, every flicker of meaning beneath their words. Morwenna, radiant and firm in her choice, leaned into Sun Eater like a mountain anchoring itself to the earth, her voice soft but steady as she spoke foreign words. Gjalla’s ears twitched, recognizing the melody of a language that did not belong to this snowy expanse. Her spirit sister had grown into something she did not yet fully understand.

Her pale eyes searched Morwenna’s, finding there the undeniable truth of her decision. The saatsine man was larger than her, formidable in his bearing, his teeth flashing like slivers of ice in the low light. “Nykeā sȳz iderennon.” Gjalla replied, her voice low, the sharp corners of her tone softening for just a moment. A fine choice. 

“They are hardly mine as is,” Gjalla said evenly, her voice a cold current beneath the warmth of their reunion. She was Morwenna's hound, not Swiftcurrent's.  “They won't miss me.” Her words hung in the air, and Gjalla stepped back, giving Morwenna the space to speak, to bridge the gaps between them as only she could. Morwenna had always been a creature of warmth and balance, the kindling to Gjalla’s fire.